New Harbours
by Ananke
Summary: The life, loves, and legacy of Rose Dawson after Titanic


Dawn was breaking, and the Atlantic was calm and quiet, hauntingly in contrast to the screams and panic of the night before. The gentle sway of the waves had long since lulled many of the cold children and heartbroken women to sleep. For others, sleep was not so easy, and their muffled sobs and prayers cut through the silence like a blade.  
Lying in one of the drifting boats, covered by a thin wool blanket, Rose Dewitt Bukater stared blankly up into the starry sky. Come Josephine In my flying machine...and it's up she goes, up she goes...the tune echoed through her mind relentlessly. God, just go away. She thought weakly. Make it go away, Jack.  
"Miss? Miss, are you all right?" A crewman leaned over her, face shadowed with worry. "It wont be long now, and we'll be rescued...I was afraid..."  
That I had died? She wondered numbly. I should have. I wanted to. Why did you make me promise, Jack?  
Several hundred feet away, Caledon Hockley ran his cramped fingers over the whiskey bottle he held. He had intended to drink away the cold, drink away the pain, the guilt...but he was only more lucid than ever. Staring wrathfully at the bottle, he cursed it's failure, wondering just where his life had gone wrong. A year ago he had been happy, healthy...and Rose had loved him. In the past few months he had lost it all...He glanced over at the child he had used to get into the lifeboat. She was wailing, the wretched thing, her dirty little face covered with tears. He turned away, not wanting to care. But after a few moments, he could take no more of the tears. They sounded too much like those he had heard Rose sob night after night in these past weeks. Passing the bottle over, he gingerly picked her frail figure up, awkwardly stroking her hair."There, now..."  
*  
Scant hours later Rose was awakened by the relieved cries and sobs of the surrounding boats. Blinking, she struggled to sit up with the aide of the kindly crewman and looked around, dizzy.  
"It won't be long. miss, and Carpathia will pick us up."  
Rose didn't hear him. She was staring in aversion at the surrounding debris and bodies. "Oh, dear God..."  
"Miss, perhaps it would be better if you just lay down." The crewman quickly followed her line of vision.  
"No!" She said sharply, turning to stare at her salvation. A smaller ship, nowhere nearing the luxury or size of Titanic. Why come now? She thought tiredly. Why now, when all is lost?  
A while later she slowly made her way up the rope ladder onto Carpathia, finally being plucked over by strong arms and wrapped in another blanket.  
"That's right, miss." A new steward led her to the third class deck. "Just sit here and rest until we can have you looked over by a doctor. I'll bring you some warm drink soon."  
Nodding, she curled up into the blanket, shivering uncontrollably. It was still bone-chillingly cold. A cold she knew she would never be completely rid of. It, and the terrible memories, would haunt her forever. Closing her eyes, she drifted into a light sleep. A tear made it's way down her ashen cheek as the memories and pain swept through her mind. Along with the awful, mind-shattering pain came awareness of what she faced and a thousand questions. How could you do this, Jack? she demanded, suddenly, inexplicably angry. You made me promise to go on...to what? A lifetime of missing you?   
*  
When she awoke nearly an hour later, Rose found that the pain had not lessened. Every part of her battered body, down to her very soul, throbbed. Part of it was from the long hours of cold, but the greater part came from grief. Resting her head on her knees, Rose sobbed. It was all so unfair. Just when her life had begun to change, it had all been destroyed. Every dream she had ever had, every hope she had held of escape and freedom from her confined existence,had been embodied in Jack Dawson. The first moment she had locked gazes with his exquisite, laughter-filled blue eyes, she had been mesmerized. Those eyes, as vivid as the bluest sky, had drawn her in, refusing to release their hold on her. It had been exquisite torture. She had known in that very moment that destiny was unfolding. Within Jack's eyes, she had found the strength to fight, to overcome all limitations. Within his gaze, she could do anything. She could fly.  
"For God's sake,sweetpea, were you in love with Dawson or his eyes?" Came the faintly annoyed voice of Caledon Hockley.  
A chill sweeping through her body, she straightened."Stay away, Cal."  
A brief smile touched his tired eyes."I adore it when you do that, Rose. Someone will catch you speaking your deep little secrets aloud, and you bristle so sweetly..."  
"I refuse to go back with you." She cut in coldly, pulling off her engagement band, and the necklace from her pocket. She had found it only an hour ago. Tossing them into his hand, she looked away."Rose Dewitt Bukater died, Cal. Be sure to have a nice funeral."  
He caught the jewels, staring at them. Suddenly he realized just how gaudy they were. Gaudy and out of place on Rose. But worth so much money. Clenching his fist around them, he straightened."Let me escort you to the infirmary, Rose."  
As they made their way through the crowds, she didn't look at him."You walked by earlier. I was certain you didn't see me."  
"Yes,well."He glanced at her."I did, but thought it best to leave you alone. For some reason I came back, though. They say love is the strongest magnet of all."  
"You don't know love." Shaking her head, Rose looked at him. "Possession, perhaps, and lust, but never love. Goodbye, Cal." Turning, she walked away, but not before his hand slipped into her pocket. She didn't notice.  
"Goodbye,sweetpea." Taking a deep breath, he headed back to first class.  
Putting her hand on the doorknob, Rose hesitated, startled at the sheer depression and weariness in his tone. "Cal..." She began, turning.  
He stopped midway up the stairway, raising an elegant brow inquiringly.  
"Why are you walking away?" She asked softly, knowing full well that he could have forced her to go with him. She wasn't strong enough to put up any kind of fight.  
"I don't know." Cal said grimly."I honestly don't know, Rose." Shaking his head, he continued up the stairs.  
*  
"Well, Rose, you were lucky." The doctor wiped his spectacles and shook his head in apparent wonder. "Few could have survived the hell you suffered, yet you escaped with only a mild case of hypothermia and pneumonia."  
"I would hardly say lucky, doctor." She said dryly.  
"The sinking wasn't lucky, of course...terrible tragedy, that...but you, my dear, are very lucky." He smiled.  
She was too tired to correct him. He wouldn't understand, at any rate. "Thank you, may I go now?"  
"Ah, yes." He nodded. "Just be sure to get a lot of bed rest and stay warm, Miss. Oh, and by the way..." He called as she shut the door. "There's a man from steerage who has been asking for a Rose...he could be a friend of yours."  
Hurrying to the main infirmary, Rose tried to calm her jumbled thoughts. It had to be Tommy or Fabrizio. She shoved away the last shred of hope that said it could be Jack. Jack was dead...he had gone into the ocean, just as Titanic had...she would never have released his hand had she not been certain he was gone. Fighting the urge to break down and cry again, she pushed the door open, going over to a harried looking nurse. "Excuse me, but the doctor says a man has been asking for a Rose...where is he, please?"  
"Right over there, miss." The woman pointed to a bed separated from the rest." Steerage, he is, but too ill to be put below decks. Near death, if you ask me."  
Thanking her, Rose went over to the bed, pulling a chair up alongside it. The figure was covered with bandages, to a point of almost no recognition. Only the feverish mumblings identified him. Fabrizio had a singular accent unlike any other. "Fabri." She whispered softly. "It's Rose, Fabri."  
He quieted for a moment, slowly turning his swathed head. "Rose? Jack ...Rose...where's Jack?"  
"Jack didn't make it, Fabri." She said softly, taking his hand. "I'm sorry."  
"Oh, no." He said weakly, voice full of pain. "Not...Jack.."  
"I know, Fabri." Rose did indeed know. And suddenly her pain felt small in comparison. Jack and Fabrizio had been like brothers, had known each other for years...She had only known him for days. There was no comparison.   
*  
"Poor kid." Gently running strong fingers through the tangled mass of Rose's auburn hair, Molly Brown smiled at Fabrizio, who grimaced as he sat up on the bed, exploring the many bruises and scrapes all over his body, "You two were lucky, you know. Poor Rose here was half dead...had the boat been a moment later..." She shook her head grimly. An exhausted and unnerved Rose had cried herself to sleep on the narrow cot beside him.  
"Is she gonna be all right?" Fabrizio asked hesitantly, still uncertain what to think of the loud-voiced, bossy, and thoroughly liberal Mrs. Brown. He had never quite met anyone like her. Excluding, of course, rose Dewitt Bukater. They were two women in a class by themselves, he decided.  
"Oh, sure." Nodding, Molly gently and swiftly checked his temperature. "This lady has more spirit and fire than most men, sonny. She just needs time to gather her wits about her and heal...we all do. Well," Standing back, she surveyed them. "I'd better be off to look in on the other patients. Rose here's mother is givin' us a fit, not that that's unexpected." Laughing loudly, Molly brushed a tendril of hair off Rose's tear-stained face before walking off.  
Struggling to position his bruised and battered body against the pillows, Fabrizio stared down at the tousled figure beside him. It was, he decided, the first time a woman had actually fallen asleep in his bed. Grinning, he shifted so that they could both cover up with the thin blanket, glancing around absently. Already the first class ladies were staring at them in distaste. Just how much impropriety could an unconscious girl and half-dead man commit in a public room, he wondered irritably, smoothing a strand of hair off her brow. Besides, she was Jack's...his chest tightened convulsively. Jack. Had been Jack's. Jack was gone. Inhaling sharply, he closed his eyes. Jack was gone, and he knew, felt deep inside, that Rose was now his responsibility. He had to take care of her. For Jack's sake.  
  
*  
Standing at the rail of Carpathia, Ruth Dewitt Bukater sighed deeply and looked out at the burgeoning sunset. A brilliant and myriad combination of rosy reds and golden hues, it was almost breathtakingly beautiful...and Ruth was not one to easily recognize beauty. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the cold and crisp wind of the Atlantic morning, and just as quickly reopened them. Dear God, the cold..the screams. Certainly Rose's had been one of them. Rose. Wild, beautiful Rose.  
"Excuse me, ma'am, but I've brought you a bit of hot tea and a blanket." A steward interrupted her thoughts politely, sitting a tray on a nearby bench and offering a regulation blanket."A bit of a chill this morning."  
"Yes, indeed." Shaking her mind free of the agonizing thoughts, she nodded at him briefly, accepting the blanket. "And...thank you." She said before realizing it, with an ease unknown for years, surprising herself. Shaking her head, she pulled the blanket around her, fumbling in her coat pocket and at last pulling out a stationary notebook and pencil. Sweeping a loose strand of hair off her face, she sat on the bench and began writing.  
My dearest Rose,  
Since the events of last night, I have had more than enough...perhaps too much...time to look back over my life, realize my mistakes, and decide how to remedy them. Rose Dewitt Bukater died last night, in her own way. So soon will Ruth Dewitt Bukater. My rose may have quietly faded from existence that bleak, hellish night, but I am more than certain that another Rose was born in her place...a Rose far stronger and even more beautiful than the other. I don't write this letter asking your forgiveness, or asking you to come back. It's far too late for that. All I ask, before we go our separate ways for good, is the chance to tell you the truth about your birth, my life, and Jack. I never hated him...I feared him. For the many past secrets he could drag up, for the awful secret I've held for so long..for many things. Please, Rose, come talk to me...give me the chance to tell you the truth before both Rose and Ruth Dewitt Bukater die forever. One chance to speak with you...nothing more.  
Mother  
Standing, Ruth took a deep breath, glancing one last time at the sunset before quickly walking inside to hand the letter to the steward.  
*  
"Ruth, I brought you more hot tea." The makeshift screen was pulled away from the narrow cot, and Ruth was forced to acknowledge the world once more. The plump, bustling woman on the other side of the curtain observed her critically. "C'mon, Ruth, look alive. You might as well face the fact that you're among the livin."   
Turning her head slowly, Ruth frowned at Molly. It had been a day since she had sent the letter to Rose, and still no reply. And she hardly expected one to be forthcoming. Rose was dead...Molly had been telling the truth. She was a fool to have thought otherwise. "Molly, my daughter is dead...what, may I ask, is the use in living?"  
Well, at least she didn't mention the money this time, Molly though dryly. There was still hope for Ruth Dewitt Bukater after all.  
"Ruth." Cal came, up, glaring at her through bloodshot eyes. "Just drink the tea, for God's sake."  
"Do not SHOUT at ME, Mr. Hockley." Ruth managed sharply, making a half-hearted attempt to shove the curtain closed. He threw it back open, frowning.  
"Cal, for god's sake." He turned to Molly. "Why is it so confounded hard to say Cal?"  
Molly cast him an amused look. "Ruth is from a particular brand of woman, Cal...always button the top button of a gown,even if it chokes you, never use a gentleman's first name...marry your daughter off to the highest bidder..."  
"For GOD'S SAKE." Ruth exploded. They turned to stare at her, Molly in expectation, Cal in surprise. Ruth continued, with a great degree of repressed anger. "I am sick and tired of being second-guessed, spoken for, and stereotyped. And I am most certainly sick of YOU, Hockley!." So saying, she slammed the curtain shut.  
"I knew she had it in her." Molly said admiringly, handing a shocked Mr. Hockley the tea tray. "Shut your trap, son."  
Staring at the closed curtain in bemusement, Cal shook his head. At least Rose had inherited her spirit honestly. He hastily set off after Molly. "Mrs. Brown, I need your advice on a matter."  
"Well, spit it out...I have patients to nurse, son."  
Taking a deep breath, he sat the tray on a nearby table. "As you may have guessed, I had a bit of insurance to obtain a position in a boat. That insurance was a small Irish girl of about five. I've been searching for her family, but she seems to have none. I have no idea what to do with her."  
"How do you feel about this child, Cal?" She stared penetratingly at him.  
"How do I feel about her?" He avoided her eyes, laughing briefly. "I don't know the child, Molly. I don't like children."  
"Then why are you so concerned about the welfare of this little one?"  
She had caught him. Confused, he shook his head. "I really have no idea...I may be selfish, Molly, but even I don't leave orphans to die on the streets."  
"Adopt her, Cal." Molly said quietly. "It may be the best thing for both of you." Shaking her head, she walked away, leaving a bewildered Hockley staring broodingly out the windows.   
*  
Rose Dawson Calvert...memoirs to Mr. Brock Lovett and Lizzy Calvert.  
  
My reunion with Mother would be far sooner than I would really have liked.  
  
I hated her, walking out into the crisp sunlight, onto Carpathia's deck. No, it was more than hatred. Deeper than anger. More shattering than sorrow. My soul wept. And wept. And then, she looked at me. Her eyes, as always, were red-rimmed, plaintive, begging for attention...but there was something deeper there, a rock-bottom sense of loss, of bewilderment, of humility. Her hair was loose, red, flowing, girlish...her clothing untended, hands pale and trembling. She wasn't Mother. Straightening, she smiled, a twisted, forced stretch of chapped lips, and patted the bench beside her. I sat, and we were quiet for a long moment. She finally spoke, voice raspy. "I miss him already."   
  
"Cal?" Typical of her, I thought, the bitterness rising again. My voice shook with loathing.   
  
"No." She glanced over at me, smiling in faint amusement. "Jack. He was good for you. Good for me. I just wish I had seen it sooner..."  
  
"He's dead." I cut her off. Dead. Even to my own conditioned ears, the word rang sharp and true, like...a thousand knives all over my body. I shuddered, well remembering his words and the feeling itself. She noticed, and, in a quick gesture, threw her own blanket over my shoulders before turning away in embarrassment. Carefully tucking the folds around me, I turned to look at her. Ruth...even now, I refuse to call her mother...Ruth, I was surprised to see, had on less protection against the cold than I...in fact, she was down to a thin camisole and corset, with ragged and obviously borrowed skirts. The wind was biting, etching chillbumps into her pale skin. She seemed not to notice the cold, or care. "Cal should be caring for you." I said, surprised.  
  
"Oh, Rose. I couldn't accept his charity now...I've learned too much. I'm not altogether certain I care what happens anymore. It would be fitting, I think, if I were to catch a chill and die out here...where I deserved to die."  
  
"Don't speak like that." My vehemence surprised me, as much as her. I still remember the gut-clenching terror her words evoked. She had done wrongs, certainly, and we disagreed enough...but she was still a part of me...of my childhood. I remembered well the lullabies she sang at night, the smell of her hair freshly washed and swinging as she gracefully danced with me before a warm fire...the better memories. I didn't want her to die, to go away forever, I knew. I hated her, but there it was. She was Mummy, still. And every child is stricken at the thought of Mummy dying...wanting death.  
  
"You still care," She seemed surprised, sadly so. "I wish you wouldn't, Rose. Life's tragedies are so much easier to move past if you don't care. No, don't worry. Appearances to the contrary, I don't have a death wish. I have too much to do, too much to learn and explore in the world. I want to go on an adventure, Rosie." Her faced stretched into a brief expression of unreserved and fervent longing. "I want to...sail the seven seas, and survive it. I want to climb mountains, swim in rivers, ride camel across a desert. I want...my past back. I want to be Ruth again. Not Ruth Dewitt Bukater. Not Rose's mother. Just Ruth. That, my red Rose, is why I wanted to say good-bye. You're going to go out and...make a new life for yourself. So am I. If I've only learned one lesson from this...its that you have to make each day count. Days are gone far, far too swiftly. Go on, Rose." Smiling wistfully, Mother rubbed her arms, shivering. "Go back to your friend...Jack's friend, no? He'll take good care of you until you're back on your feet?"  
  
"Yes...I think he will." Smiling faintly, I stood, removing one of the blankets and tucking it back over her chilled shoulders.  
  
"Good." Standing, she stepped to the railing, hair blowing loosely, eyes scanning the berg strewn horizon. "When you were little, Rose, you swore you would fall in love with a tall, dark, and handsome man...I truly thought you were right when Cal came along. I was wrong. But this...friend of Jack's...he satisfies the equation, does he not?"  
  
"Mother...Fabrizio and I both lost someone very, very dear to us last night...how can you even suggest such a thing." I rubbed my temples, sighing. Perhaps she hadn't changed after all.  
  
"Destiny takes strange paths." Squeezing my arm, she smiled one last time. "Goodbye, Rose. Be happy. Be happy."  
  
To which I can only say now...indeed it does, and I was, Mother. I was.  
  
* 


End file.
